


Headphones

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Music, Not Fitting In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Emma was that odd girl who wore pants that were too baggy, who scowled when people said hello, who hid behind her hair. And her headphones. Everyone gave her a wide berth. Until the boy with the dark hair and the broody blue eyes knocked right into her. Probably because he was staring at his feet and lost in his headphones, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I guess I’ve got to stop listening to the radio because every song I hear makes me think of this OTP. Then I have to write a fic rather than doing other more productive things. Like working on my MCs or the CSSNS that’s fast approaching. Or . . . I don’t know . . . housework or something. Anyway, this time it was the song “Headphones” by Brit Nicole. And this happened . . .   
> *This is particularly dedicated to all the outcasts and nerds. You will rule the world someday, my friends . . .

              Escape was always something that Emma Swan craved. From the time she first figured out that the world was a cold, uncaring place, escape was the only appealing response. There were times she literally tried to escape, finding herself on the streets and barely surviving until the money and the food ran out. Eventually, she gave up on literal escape.

              Instead, she found it through her headphones.

              School was pointless anyway. She had moved too much, fallen too far behind. So she just slumped in the back corner, headphones in place, waiting for the bell to signal the end of her torture. The kids who only ever bullied her when they noticed her at all were easy to avoid when she was lost in the music. She made her way down the halls, head trained on her feet, her mind far away, pulsing with the bass and fingers tapping the syncopated rhythms on the straps of her backpack.

              She prided herself on her eclectic taste in music that was decades removed from what her classmates listened to. Punk rock from the 80s, alternative from the 90s, classic rock of the 70s. With some Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn thrown in. And “Jolene,” by Dolly Parton, of course. The woman in the song needed to get a life and a new man, sure, but the song itself was a classic. The dumb, giggling masses of girls around her had probably never heard of it.

              Emma was that odd girl who wore pants that were too baggy, who scowled when people said hello, who hid behind her hair. And her headphones. Everyone gave her a wide berth.

              Until the boy with the dark hair and the broody blue eyes knocked right into her. Probably because he was staring at his feet and lost in his headphones, too.

              They knocked each other to the ground, so oblivious were they both to their surroundings. Emma’s headphones flew off her head and tumbled to the ground. She blinked in shock, and the other boy did the same. Then he crawled around on the ground, gathering up his strewn books and papers, avoiding her gaze. Emma nervously tucked her hair behind her ears as she got to her knees and hoisted her book bag onto her shoulders again. The boy picked up the headphones and handed them to her, finally looking at her with a crooked smile on his face.

              “Are you deaf?” he teased.

              Emma was so used to biting, cruel remarks, that she almost snapped a reply. Until she noted in his smile, his tone, and the brightness of his eyes that he wasn’t being mean. She managed a small laugh as she took the headphones from him, her fingers brushing against his.

              “Guess I do listen to it sort of loud.”

              He helped her to her feet, and she found she didn’t mind his hand in hers at all.

              “Led Zepellin,” he commented, “good choice.”

              And then he was slipping his own headphones back on and plunging back into the sea of teenagers. Emma smiled as she lost herself in her music again, watching the back of his dark head until it disappeared in the crowd.

              “No Quarter” wasn’t exactly a well-known song, and he had still known it was Led Zepellin. She was impressed.

                            **********************************************************

              Going to school dances isn’t exactly an ideal way to escape. But Emma’s foster mother is actually trying and takes her shopping for a dress, and Emma finds she just can’t tell her “no.” She picks a red halter dress with a flared skirt that hits right at the knees. Mainly because it matches her red headphones.

              Now instead of slouched in the back of a classroom she’s slouched on the bleachers in the corner of the gym. Everyone’s giving her a wide berth. She likes it that way.

              Except for the dark haired Zepellin fan. He startles her when he sits next to her, close enough for his shoulder to brush hers. He grins at her reaction and gestures to his own headphones. They both take them off at the same time.

              “I was hoping I’d see you again,” he tells her, “name’s Killian Jones. May I?”

              He’s pointing at her headphones and extending his own for her to take. “Emma Swan,” she replies shyly as she swaps with him.

              As she slips the black headphones over her ears, the chorus to “Creep” by Offspring pulses in her head. She feels like her grin must look ridiculously goofy as she catches Killian’s eye, knowing that “Loser” by Beck is playing from her red ones. Killian slips her headphones off, and Emma does the same.

              “Want to dance?” he tilts his head towards the dance floor.

              Emma bites her lower lip, and ducks her head, tempted to hide behind her hair again. “I’m not really any good at it.”

              He takes her hand anyway, dimples forming when his smile deepens. “Neither am I. But it’s a slow song, so there’s only one rule.”

              “What’s that?” Emma asks as he stands and pulls her to her feet.

              “All you have to do is sway.”

              Even though the lights are low, Emma can see a blush staining his face as he places his hands at her waist. She feels heat of her own creep up her cheeks as she rests her hands at his shoulders. They sway for a few minutes, just like he said to do, slowly shuffling closer and closer to one another until Emma’s face is pressed against his collar bone. Ed Sheeran is crooning a love song over the loud speaker.

              “I hate this song,” Emma mutters.

              Killian laughs, and she does too. “Maybe if it was Adele I could tolerate it,” he replies.

              She slips her arms underneath his and wraps them up around his shoulder blades. “I know, right?”

              They are as close as two people can possibly be while slow dancing, and it’s simultaneously comfortable and nerve-wracking. Then the slow song ends and “Honey I’m Good” by Andy Grammar begins to play. They both groan at the song choice, and then Killian grabs her hand and pulls her quickly from the dance floor.

              “Wanna get out of here?” he asks her. Emma frowns slightly, and at her expression, Killian’s eyes widen and his face turns bright red. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just . . . I’ve got a lot of great music at home. Some vinyl even, and I thought . . . “

              Emma grins at him as she grabs her headphones from the bleachers. “Sure.”

              Killian’s house is small and a bit run down, and the only person home is his older brother who looks to only be about 21 or so. Then Killian explains that it’s just the two of them. Their mother died and their dad left, and he says it so matter-of-factly, that Emma immediately gets him. He’s as nerdy as her when it comes to music, especially about the turntable his brother found at an antique store.

              Emma gets home way past curfew, but it isn’t because of anything scandalous. She simply fell asleep against Killian’s shoulder while they were listening to Jimi Hendrix.

                            ********************************************************

              Everyone at school calls them a cute couple in a sarcastic voice followed by laughter and eye rolling. The two outcasts. The two misfits. The two weirdos. But they understand one another, and they are good for each other. They both know this because the longer they’re together, the less they need their headphones.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian, 12 years later, attend their ten year class reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who requested part two, particularly bethacaciakay ,who first suggested it.

              Emma Swan could never pinpoint the exact moment that she decided to escape inside herself. It was just something that happened slowly, one betrayal and disappointment at a time. She could, however, pinpoint the exact moment she stopped merely escaping. The moment she swapped headphones with Killian Jones.

              Which, in the end, led her directly here. Sitting on a hotel bed, talking to her one year old daughter via FaceTime. Emma laughs as Hope blows her kisses, her little freckled nose scrunched up. Suddenly, Liam Jones’s face fills the screen instead.

              “I taught her that,” he brags, only to have the phone yanked out of his hand.

              Ingrid’s face now fills the screen, “You know these Jones boys, always exaggerating. Elsa and I have spent the entire afternoon preparing her to blow kisses.”

              “Hey!” Emma can hear her brother-in-law protest off-screen, and Ingrid laughs.

              “Is that my little lass?” Killian asks from the doorway. He’s still wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.

              Emma nods and dashes over so he can see the screen. “She learned something new.”

              “Dada!” Hope squeals when she sees her father’s face. Then she blows an even more theatrical kiss than before. She’s a daddy’s girl through and through, no doubt about it. Killian pretends to catch the kiss, then sends her one back. They both say goodbye half a dozen times before their little girl is satisfied, and then Emma plops down on the edge of the bed to say goodbye to her foster mother.

              “Does it really take three adults to take care of one baby?” Emma asks her.

              Ingrid shrugs, “What can I say? She has us bewitched. And besides –“ Ingrid glances behind her and lowers her voice before continuing, “I think Liam and Elsa are practicing, if you know what I mean.”

              Emma nods conspiratorially and then ends the call. She tosses her cell phone aside and leans back on both arms to give her husband a good and thorough once-over. He’s still standing in the doorway to the bathroom, rubbing a hand through his wet hair.

              “Are you sure we really want to go to this thing?” he asks her.

              Emma tilts her head and bites her lower lip as she takes in his dark hair as it drips water onto his broad shoulders. Water droplets glisten against his dark chest hair, and she feels a heat travel down her spine as she watches one slowly make a trail down his abs to the edge of the towel that is hanging invitingly low. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she smiles wickedly.

              “Oh yes, we are _definitely_ going.”

                            *****************************************************

              A decade ago, this was a trip Emma and Killian probably would have said they would never make. After graduation, Minnesota was merely the view from the rearview mirror of their busted-up car. Liam and Ingrid had both wanted them to try for college. And since they were both orphans, scholarships and grants would have been within their reach. Except for their grades, that is. And institutionalized learning was something they had both spent years suffering through. The last thing they wanted was to suffer through four more years of it.

              So they packed up their lemon of a car and hit the road with the little money they had saved from their after school jobs. Liam and Ingrid would always be there for them, but they both made it clear they weren’t supporting Emma and Killian’s bohemian lifestyle. They were okay with that.

              Music was still their passion, so they went in search of it. They tried LA, only to be disappointed. Someone out west told them that the southeast was the place to go these days, so they made their way slowly across the country, settling down here and there only long enough to make enough money to hit the road again. Atlanta was interesting, but the hip hop and R&B scene wasn’t their thing, so they headed to Memphis. It just seemed less obvious than Nashville, and more retro. They may have lived off beans and toast, but Memphis was where they found their sound.

              But they couldn’t make a living in Memphis. For that, they had to swallow their pride and go to Nashville. In that city, luck was finally in their favor. Two things aligned: a thick playbook of songs they had written together from LA to Atlanta to Memphis. And a chance encounter with Elsa Arrendale of Fjord Records. The rest, as the cliché goes, is history.

              Now Minnesota is the view on all three sides as they drive the familiar roads to the place they called home back in high school. And instead of a lemon, they drive a luxury SUV. It fits in nicely with the rest of the cars parked in the lot of the country club. Killian whistles as he unbuckles his seat belt.

              “Well, this is a place I never once laid eyes on when I was a teenager.”

              Emma chuckles in agreement, then pauses as she reaches for the passenger side door. “Are we sure we want to go to this thing?”

              Killian’s gaze travels over her stunning blonde hair that falls in soft waves down her back and then down to the figure she cuts in her tight, little red dress.

              “Oh, yes,” he tells her huskily, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “we are _definitely_ sure.”

                             *************************************************

              There’s a bubbly woman with a clipboard checking people in and getting them their name tags. Emma may not have been popular back in the day, but even she recognizes the former captain of the cheerleading squad and senior class president. The girl – Marie, Emma remembers - hasn’t changed a bit, her cheeks still cherubic and pink as she smiles; her dark hair still glistening as the light hits it. But Emma can also tell from the wrinkle in her brow that she can’t place Emma and Killian at all.

              “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t remember you . . .” Marie trails off, looking embarrassed.

              “Emma Swan and Killian Jones,” Emma tells her. She inches closer to her husband and slips her arm around his waist. “Though it’s Emma Jones now.”

              Marie’s mouth falls open and a gasp escapes, “Oh my goodness! You two have changed so much, I didn’t recognize you. You were _so_ cute in high school, and you got _married_?”

              “You didn’t get the pictures that I sent?” Emma innocently asks. Marie wasn’t a bully in high school, simply too busy with her perfect social life to pay kids like Emma and Killian any mind, so Emma has no ill will towards her.

              Marie instantly blushes. “You know,” she chuckles nervously, “I forgot about that. I didn’t think you’d . . . “

              She trails off awkwardly, and it occurs to Emma what the woman had assumed. That she had sent fake pictures, planning on not showing up. She glances at Killian and sees that he’s had the same thought.

              “So,” Killian says, clearing his throat, “do we need name tags or anything?”

              Marie waves her hand in the air. “No, we thought it would be more fun without name tags. Get everyone to mingle, you know? But there will be a seating chart at dinner. For now, just get a drink at the bar, mingle . . . “

              She trails off again as another couple walks through the door, waving in recognition. Killian waggles his eyebrows at Emma.

              “I don’t know about you, love, but I already need a drink.”

              “Sounds great. Get us both some rum; I’m just going to the ladies room for a bit.”

              He nods and she brushes a kiss across his cheek before heading for the restrooms. Before she leaves her stall, her phone dings. She fishes it out of her purse and grins when she sees that it’s a picture from Elsa. Hope is in her high chair, stripped down to her diaper and covered head to toe in spaghetti noodles and tomato sauce.

              Emma chuckles then texts a reply: _You served a one year old spaghetti? Amateurs ;)_   

              She’s just hit send when she hears hear name on the other side of the bathroom stall.

              “Have you seen Emma Swan yet?”

              Emma feels like she’s fifteen again as she inches closer to the slit beside the door. Through it, she can just make out a red head with a small baby bump using the sink next to another woman with a short, dark mom haircut. Only when the dark haired mother turns her head does Emma recognize her. She’s cut her hair and gained about twenty pounds, but there’s no mistaking those piercing, critical eyes. It’s Regina, the queen bee who used to terrorize her the most back in high school.

              “Yes,” Regina says with a roll of her eyes, “just as scrawny as she was the day we graduated.”

              The red head laughs, “She was, wasn’t she? And so was her boyfriend . . . what was his name? The nerd who wore all those obscure band t-shirts?”

              Regina waves a hand dismissively as she leans against the sink. “Who cares? He’s probably playing video games in a dark basement somewhere.”

              “Well, Emma’s taste in men has definitely improved. Did you see her date?” The red head fans herself dramatically. “Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover it. And definitely _not_ scrawny. He had his shirt unbuttoned to here,” the woman gestures to a spot mid-chest, “and let me just say it hinted at enough to make me want to yank the whole thing off. Chest hair and muscles like you wouldn’t believe.”

              Regina leans forward and dabs at her lipstick. “I saw him, believe me.”

              Emma smirks behind the stall door at the appreciative hum in Regina’s voice.

              “Did you see his eyes?” the other woman continues to gush.

              “Please, Zelena, you’re waddling around with a wedding ring on your finger to boot.”

              “What are you trying to say?”

              Regina smirks at her friend. “I’m saying that he may have arrived with Emma Swan, but he’s leaving with Regina Mills.”

              “You’re wicked,” Emma rolls her eyes at the way Zelena says it in a gleeful voice, “what if she’s married to that man candy?”

              “Doubtful,” Regina scoffs, “he’s probably just an acquaintance she coerced into coming with her.”

              Emma decides this is the moment for her dramatic entrance. “Actually, Zelena’s right,” she says as the stall door swings outward, “he’s my husband.”

              She waves her left hand so they can see the ring, then elbows past Regina to get to the sink.

              “Emma Swan,” Zelena stutters, actually seeming embarrassed, “it’s been . . . a long time.”

              Emma smiles with exaggerated sweetness at Zelena’s reflection as she turns off the tap and reaches for a paper towel. “Actually, it’s Emma _Jones_ now. As in Killian Jones? Maybe you didn’t recognize him without the . . . how did you put it? The obscure band t-shirts?”

              Emma casually tosses the paper towel in the trash can, inwardly laughing as both women’s jaws almost hit the floor. She keeps a serene expression for their benefit, however, as she walks out the door. As she approaches the bar, Emma smiles with pleasure at the sight of her handsome husband.

              Her handsome husband who is currently leaning away from a tall woman with salt and pepper hair who has sidled up next to him at the bar. The sight only makes Emma’s smile broaden.

              “Killian,” she says with a sigh, wrapping her arms around him from behind and brushing a kiss against the shell of his ear, “sorry it took me so long. That ladies room is packed.”

              The woman’s face suddenly falls at the name, her gaze darting between the two of them. “Killian Jones and Emma Swan?”

              Emma nods and once again lifts her left hand. The diamond in her engagement ring catches the light perfectly, and the woman blinks rapidly.

              “Emma Jones, now though.” God, she’s never loved saying that more than she has tonight!

              “Well, um . . .” the woman grasps for words as she takes a step backwards. She mumbles a congratulations and hurries off.

              Killian turns on his stool to face her, and Emma’s arms loop around his neck. “Thanks, love. I think she wanted to devour me.”

              Emma laughs then gives him a thorough kiss, the kind that she normally would consider too intimate for public displays of affection. But clearly every woman in this place is checking out her husband, and it gives her tremendous satisfaction to show off that he’s taken. That he’s hers. It isn’t that she’s jealous, quite the contrary, actually. It fills her with smug pride that all these women are finally noticing what Emma saw all along. The fact that Regina Mills walks out of the ladies room just in time to see them lock lips is only icing on the cake.

              “Not that I’m complaining,” Killian says when she pulls away, his breath ragged, “but what was that for?”

              “Hmm. . . “ Emma replies, sitting right on his lap with her arms still clasping him about the neck, “I believe I call it revenge.”

                            ********************************************************

              By the time dinner rolls around, they have both had enough of the shocked, “wow, you two have really changed!” routine. The food ends up being a disappointment, especially considering they paid $80 a person to come. Killian whispers that at least there’s an open bar. That has to be the only reason for the exorbitant ticket price. It may be a country club, but this is still just a Minnesota suburb.

              After dinner, a slide show plays. It shows each graduate’s yearbook picture, followed by current photographs. Time has been kind to some, others not so much. Emma and Killian’s yearbook photos are shown together, the only ones in the slide show formatted that way. Emma knows it’s because of the photos she submitted: one of the two of them on their wedding day, one of both of them with Hope on her first birthday, and one of Killian with Hope asleep on his chest. It doesn’t escape Emma’s notice how many “aws” their pictures get from the women in the audience.

              But for Emma, those photographs make a lump rise up in her throat. Her hand goes instinctively to Killian’s. He squeezes it and turns to her with an understanding smile on his face.

                            *********************************************************

              An hour later, Killian grins as Emma sighs and slumps against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her and brushes a kiss to the top of her head.

              “I miss our baby girl,” she tells him.

              “Aye, Swan, so do I.”

              Emma tilts her head up to look at him, an adorable pout on her face. “Can’t we just drive back to Nashville tonight?”

              Killian holds her just a bit tighter and waggles his eyebrows at her. “But darling, I was looking forward to enjoying one more night in that hotel room.”

              Emma’s face scrunches up adorably at his flirting, then she yanks his lips down to hers for a quick kiss. This isn’t her showing him off; this is the two of them in their happy bubble. Killian drifts his lips across her cheek, nuzzling her hair with his nose. He surreptitiously swipes his tongue across the shell of her ear.

              “So many things we can _indulge_ in without a baby in the next room,” he whispers huskily. He can feel her shiver, and there are goosebumps along her arm when he runs his hand down to tangle his fingers with hers.

              “I’m the luckiest woman alive,” she whispers against his collarbone, her voice completely sincere.

              Killian pulls back so he can really gaze into her eyes. He fiddles with a lock of her hair. “Funny, I was thinking that I was the luckiest _man_ alive. When you walked away from me at the bar, you should have heard what the former star football players were saying about you.”

              “Oh really,” Emma says teasingly, lifting both his hands to press his palms to hers. “And what did they say?” she asks as she laces their fingers together.

              Killian shifts closer so their noses are brushing, “Nothing suitable for repeating.”

              Emma’s eyes narrows as she studies his expression. “Killian Jones, what did you say to them?”

              He shrugs, grinning mischievously. “Well, first I asked them to stop objectifying my wife. Then I told them if they hadn’t been blind Neanderthals back in high school maybe they could have been as lucky as I. Funny. They didn’t recognize you.”

              Emma smiles tenderly as she reaches up and traces his jaw with her finger tips. “Know what else is funny?’

              “What?”

              “I thought we needed to come tonight for, I don’t know, vindication or something.”

              Killian nods. “The whole _success is the best revenge_ thing?”

              “Yeah,” Emma exhales, looking over his shoulder at the drunken crowd now clogging the dance floor. One man is attempting to pull his inebriated wife away from the microphone. Killian follows her gaze.

              “Did you notice we’re the only ones here besides _them_?”

              Emma cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

              “Look at them, Emma. Think back to the slide show. Everyone here but us were popular when we were in high school.”

              Emma nods, chewing on her bottom lip in that adorable way that has always driven him crazy, even in high school. “That’s exactly what I mean, Killian. We didn’t need to come here at all. I realized when that slide show played that you and Hope are my present and my future. Nothing else matters, especially not the past.”

              Killian reaches up to thread both hands in Emma’s hair. “As painful as adolescence was for me, I always have one beautiful memory. And that’s you.” He presses his forehead to hers. “Always you.”

              Emma gets up and tugs on his hand. “Then let’s get out of here, shall we, Mr. Jones?”

              “Your wish is my command, Mrs. Jones,” Killian replies as he stands with a mock bow, which makes his wife giggle.

              She turns to leave, her hand still in his, but Killian stops her. “Wait, love, don’t forget our prize.”

              Emma rolls her eyes as Killian picks up the tiny trophy off their table and waves it at her. It’s a joke, really, with a tiny figure of a teenager with his fist in the air like Judd Nelson at the end of _The Breakfast Club_. Emma yanks Killian’s hand closer to her so she can see the inscription on the trophy.

              “High School Sweethearts” it reads. And as cheesy as it is, when they get home, Killian insists on keeping it on their nightstand.

                           


End file.
